Forget Winona
Well it goes from St. Louie
Down to Missouri
Oklahoma City
Looks oh so pretty
You'll see Amarillo and Gallup, New Mexico
Flagstaff, Arizona
Don't forget Winona
Kingman, Barstow, San Bernadino...
We're back from the family-intensive week; this involved flying to Albuquerque (where one can still light fireworks in the backyard; that's why we go there for the 4th); driving three kids, one teenager, and three adults around in a mini-van for 2,300 miles of science education in the desert; flying to Houston (late, on account of storms which delayed flights) and driving up into East Texas (late, on account of a horrible accident which blocked traffic across four lanes and a wide grass median of an interstate highway); attending a Family Reunion; and flying home.
We were glad to get back, much as we enjoy the family intensives. We had to go look at the Bears' House, to see how it was, which was fine, except that the water wasn't running yet, and the entire upstairs had lost electricity, which was working fine when we left. We suspect the radon removers of nefarious wire-cutting accidents. I think that there's a bright side, though; if we have to hire an electrician to come fix the electricity, we can get him or her to explain what the hell all those obscure switches are attached to. It takes a while to get used to any house; this one, with its centuries of layers of human enterprise, is going to take a Long Time to Understand. Every time we visit, we find oddities.
The new laptop is supposed to arrive today -- hoorah -- and I need to go into work and check my mail and get some writing done, and since I'm on the blog, I should probably tell you all about the excellence of the Grand Canyon (which you probably already knew), and the surprisingly interesting qualities of the confluence of 4 mighty states, BUT
I need to give you more advice. And my advice is, despite the kicks on Route 66 song, forget Winona.
If you're traveling around in a van with a bunch of kids, you find that you need to stop fairly often for bathroom breaks, especially since a large part of kids not being terminally bored in the back of the van involves sodas and flavored waters.
We had driven through Flagstaff, on Interstate 40, much of which used to be Route 66, when one of the kids announced an upcoming emergency. Also, we were hungry and it was dinner time. A restaurant, therefore; that's what we needed. That would take care of everything. But we all know from experience that it's a VERY BAD IDEA to leave the interstate for a restaurant if the exit hasn't been posted as one that has a restaurant extant, as if you do, you'll be driving through tiny back roads for hours trying in vain to find someplace to eat.
How happy we were then, when we got to Winona, and, though there was no sign saying what restaurants were available, there were two signs, one with a gas icon and one with a knife and fork on a plate, which we took to mean that a restaurant existed in Winona.
So we got off the interstate and we drove through Winona. This took about 2 minutes -- there were a few houses. There was nothing else. We drove on for a bit and there was desert. But this made no sense! There had to be food! A knife and fork announced it!
We drove back. Right at the road to get back on the interstate, we saw a gas station, which we had overlooked before on account of its shabbiness. That explained the gas icon at the interstate exit, but where was the restaurant? Nowhere, that's where. So we went into the gas station, which had a sign announcing that the restrooms were only for paying customers. Well, fair enough; that's understandable.
But it was the most hostile gas station we'd ever seen. The bathroom had a sign on it announcing that the sink was broken; this was accompanied by a sign announcing that Flagstaff was 10 miles down the road, with, I suppose, bathrooms we might find more to our liking. And there was no restaurant. There was mini-mart food; we could have et Doritos, though my brother pointed out that a knife and fork wouldn't have been necessary, so the mini-mart itself didn't explain the knife and fork icon on the interstate exit. Also, the people at the counter were rude. I gather that this was because the proliferation of rude signs might not have gotten their message across.
And the message was, pretty clearly, go away, you dreadful travelers, we hate you, and we're deeply grieved that we are forced to make our living letting you onto our property and taking your money, which is SO not worth the trouble you have put us to.
When we'd first walked in, we'd said, ok, Joey needs to use the bathroom; there's no restaurant here, but we can find one later down the road; they want us to buy something if we use the bathroom, but that's ok, cause we need more lunch meat, cheese, and sodas, so we can get them here. But we became so angry at the way we were treated that we bought as little as possible. Later, thinking it over, my brother was sorry we'd bought even that. We should have bought a piece of gum, he said, and asked them to change a $50.
Sam, who is a kind and charitable man, wants me to point out that the gas station at the Winona exit is NOT actually Winona itself, and that the town may be very nice. I see his point. Perhaps at every town meeting all the rest of Winona weeps, and tries to think up ways to get rid of the horrible gas station that gives those who find themselves in the little town such a bad impression of an otherwise charming place. However. At the moment, the gas station provides the only interaction most interstate travelers will have with Winona, and I say, forget Winona.
We did discover an excellent place to stop and let children go to the bathroom: the casinos. No signs announcing that if you don't hand over money you can't pee; no rudeness; nothing but cheeriness.
AM I in favor of casinos? Nope, I hate 'em. Am I in favor of small businesses? Yes, I damn well am. Nevertheless. Next time I'm on an interstate in the desert with a small child having a bathroom emergency, I'm very likely to stop at the first casino I see.
Down to Missouri
Oklahoma City
Looks oh so pretty
You'll see Amarillo and Gallup, New Mexico
Flagstaff, Arizona
Don't forget Winona
Kingman, Barstow, San Bernadino...
We're back from the family-intensive week; this involved flying to Albuquerque (where one can still light fireworks in the backyard; that's why we go there for the 4th); driving three kids, one teenager, and three adults around in a mini-van for 2,300 miles of science education in the desert; flying to Houston (late, on account of storms which delayed flights) and driving up into East Texas (late, on account of a horrible accident which blocked traffic across four lanes and a wide grass median of an interstate highway); attending a Family Reunion; and flying home.
We were glad to get back, much as we enjoy the family intensives. We had to go look at the Bears' House, to see how it was, which was fine, except that the water wasn't running yet, and the entire upstairs had lost electricity, which was working fine when we left. We suspect the radon removers of nefarious wire-cutting accidents. I think that there's a bright side, though; if we have to hire an electrician to come fix the electricity, we can get him or her to explain what the hell all those obscure switches are attached to. It takes a while to get used to any house; this one, with its centuries of layers of human enterprise, is going to take a Long Time to Understand. Every time we visit, we find oddities.
The new laptop is supposed to arrive today -- hoorah -- and I need to go into work and check my mail and get some writing done, and since I'm on the blog, I should probably tell you all about the excellence of the Grand Canyon (which you probably already knew), and the surprisingly interesting qualities of the confluence of 4 mighty states, BUT
I need to give you more advice. And my advice is, despite the kicks on Route 66 song, forget Winona.
If you're traveling around in a van with a bunch of kids, you find that you need to stop fairly often for bathroom breaks, especially since a large part of kids not being terminally bored in the back of the van involves sodas and flavored waters.
We had driven through Flagstaff, on Interstate 40, much of which used to be Route 66, when one of the kids announced an upcoming emergency. Also, we were hungry and it was dinner time. A restaurant, therefore; that's what we needed. That would take care of everything. But we all know from experience that it's a VERY BAD IDEA to leave the interstate for a restaurant if the exit hasn't been posted as one that has a restaurant extant, as if you do, you'll be driving through tiny back roads for hours trying in vain to find someplace to eat.
How happy we were then, when we got to Winona, and, though there was no sign saying what restaurants were available, there were two signs, one with a gas icon and one with a knife and fork on a plate, which we took to mean that a restaurant existed in Winona.
So we got off the interstate and we drove through Winona. This took about 2 minutes -- there were a few houses. There was nothing else. We drove on for a bit and there was desert. But this made no sense! There had to be food! A knife and fork announced it!
We drove back. Right at the road to get back on the interstate, we saw a gas station, which we had overlooked before on account of its shabbiness. That explained the gas icon at the interstate exit, but where was the restaurant? Nowhere, that's where. So we went into the gas station, which had a sign announcing that the restrooms were only for paying customers. Well, fair enough; that's understandable.
But it was the most hostile gas station we'd ever seen. The bathroom had a sign on it announcing that the sink was broken; this was accompanied by a sign announcing that Flagstaff was 10 miles down the road, with, I suppose, bathrooms we might find more to our liking. And there was no restaurant. There was mini-mart food; we could have et Doritos, though my brother pointed out that a knife and fork wouldn't have been necessary, so the mini-mart itself didn't explain the knife and fork icon on the interstate exit. Also, the people at the counter were rude. I gather that this was because the proliferation of rude signs might not have gotten their message across.
And the message was, pretty clearly, go away, you dreadful travelers, we hate you, and we're deeply grieved that we are forced to make our living letting you onto our property and taking your money, which is SO not worth the trouble you have put us to.
When we'd first walked in, we'd said, ok, Joey needs to use the bathroom; there's no restaurant here, but we can find one later down the road; they want us to buy something if we use the bathroom, but that's ok, cause we need more lunch meat, cheese, and sodas, so we can get them here. But we became so angry at the way we were treated that we bought as little as possible. Later, thinking it over, my brother was sorry we'd bought even that. We should have bought a piece of gum, he said, and asked them to change a $50.
Sam, who is a kind and charitable man, wants me to point out that the gas station at the Winona exit is NOT actually Winona itself, and that the town may be very nice. I see his point. Perhaps at every town meeting all the rest of Winona weeps, and tries to think up ways to get rid of the horrible gas station that gives those who find themselves in the little town such a bad impression of an otherwise charming place. However. At the moment, the gas station provides the only interaction most interstate travelers will have with Winona, and I say, forget Winona.
We did discover an excellent place to stop and let children go to the bathroom: the casinos. No signs announcing that if you don't hand over money you can't pee; no rudeness; nothing but cheeriness.
AM I in favor of casinos? Nope, I hate 'em. Am I in favor of small businesses? Yes, I damn well am. Nevertheless. Next time I'm on an interstate in the desert with a small child having a bathroom emergency, I'm very likely to stop at the first casino I see.
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